


L'Instant Présent

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Swap, F/M, Fantasy, Identity Reveal, Minor Character Death, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance, Slow Burn, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: A Marinette with no knowledge of being Ladybug manages to be useless fighting crime for her first time, and carelessly reveals her identity to her oblivious partner when they're alone. AU.





	L'Instant Présent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmyNChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyNChan/gifts).



> _AmyNChan_ , hi, I'm your secret santa. As your prompt was really vague, I took the Chat Noir/Marinette and Chat Noir/Ladybug parts of it and mushed it together into an AU that relies on the assumption that when Marinette hurts herself severely outside of the transformation, the closest Marinette from a parallel universe replaces her, so there's still a Ladybug in her world. There's a bit of sadness, some fluff, and since I don't know you at all, _AmyNChan_ , I tried to stalk your blogs to find out if you're a child or not, ahaha. After seeing you only had one bookmark that was rated M, I decided not to include any smut. Teasers for upcoming stories can be found on my tumblr ( _xiueryn_ ).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

The first thing she became aware of was the throbbing of her head. Marinette shifted her body with a hoarse grunt, hand reaching up to touch the tender part where she could feel her pulse beating erratically, eyes heavy as she tried to open them.

She could hear incoherent words—someone fretting in front of her—but all she could do in return was groan as she tried to steady herself and see who was helping her. Her memories were skewed for that moment, too focused on the pain that was there, and it was with bleary eyes that she took in the blurry surroundings around her.

Her mother kneeling down beside her, a concerned expression as she reached out with tears in her eyes, and she saw her broad-shouldered father talking frantically on the phone, words too distorted to make out properly.

From her heavy eyelids, Marinette's vision shifted to darkness, and the next thing she was aware was to the white walls of a hospital room. She sat up carefully, shifting in the gown she'd been dressed in, and raised a hand gingerly to her head where she could still feel a faint throb. The room had no lights on, curtains closed due to the time, and she looked to the side to see her mother curled up in one of the offered chairs. She assumed that her father had to tear himself away from staying the night because of his large stature.

A doctor explained it to her the next day while she was holding her mother's hand. She'd fallen down the stairs that led to her bedroom, hit her head on the floor and fallen promptly unconscious, and her parents had heard the noise from the floor below, prompting them to panic and call an ambulance.

She was fine, though. Marinette had to have stitches at the back of her head, stayed in hospital for almost a week to make sure sure was fine and then have her stitches removed—no homework due to no visitors, her parents had wanted her to recover in peace—so when she returned to her home and had to walk purposely slow up and down the stairs, she took in the pink-coloured walls of her room and immediately started to charge the cell phone that she'd left behind.

As her time off wasn't too long, her absence had been explained to the school and approved, and she was fit to return the following week, as long as she took her prescribed medication. Marinette collected her fallen bag for school, retrieving the contents and searching for any work that she had to complete before she arrived. It was to pass the time before there was enough battery on her device to contact her friends to assure them that she was _fine—_

And she was fine, really. There was a sore part on her head and she had to take painkillers to concentrate, but it wouldn't last long. Her face was damaged; her nose was slightly upturned, the same monolids greeted her in the mirror, and her blue-coloured eyes stood out against the pale skin and black hair that fell to just below her collarbones. It could've been worse, and she could've fallen face first and broken her nose and had horrific bruises covering her skin.

Alya, her best friend who had red hair and spectacles, was the one that she had the most messages from. After checking that it wasn't too late, Marinette pressed the call button.

She answered in seconds. “ _Marinette_! This is Marinette, right? Not that I wouldn't be happy to your parents, but the last time they called it was to say you were unconscious in hospital.”

“Hey, yes. It's me, don't worry.” She was smiling from her friend's ramblings, leaning back against her desk chair and clad in her comfiest pyjamas. “I'm coming into school on Monday. Do you want to meet up and walk together? To make sure I don't fall over, I mean. My parents are terrified that I'll trip without supervision.”

“I'm terrified, too,” Alya snapped, although there was no heat to her words. “I will be there first thing in the morning, and you will absolutely not walk a single step without me by your side.”

She laughed. “That means you'll have to get up early if you're coming all the way here.”

“It's fine, I haven't had to stay up late for a few weeks,” the red-head responded easily. “I'll be escorting you like royalty bright and early tomorrow, Marinette.”

They chatted for a bit more, joking around until Alya's mother interrupted to ask her daughter to go to sleep. Marinette snickered from her friend's moans and pleas that lasted until her mother threatened to downgrade their internet plan, and when she'd placed her cell phone back to charge, she leaned back in her chair and wondered what to do.

She wasn't tired, and her parents had already retreated into bed since they woke up before dawn each day. There wasn't much she could do; she could browse the internet and watch silly videos, possibly sneak down the stairs to watch television and had a snack, or she could slip on on a dressing gown for warmth and shoes to venture up to her balcony to check on her flowers.

Had it rained in the time she was away? Marinette's bedroom was the only one that had a balcony, and therefore flowers to take care of because her parents insisting that it was unsafe to have a pet, as it could potentially harm their work environment on the ground floor. So, they'd helped make a small area for her on the balcony, complete with a chair to sit in and a little table, surrounded by pretty flowers that she took care of and enjoyed drawing every now and then.

With that thought in mind, Marinette carefully made her way downstairs to fill up the watering can that she kept in a kitchen cupboard, slipping on the extra clothing and shoes before she ventured up through the trapdoor in her room.

The solar-powered lights that she had decorating the area allowed her to see, and it was from them that she was able to make out the figure that was standing on her balcony with their back to her as they held a water bottle to her plants.

Baffled, her watering can clattered to the floor loudly as she saw the strange attire the figure was wearing; the black ears that were stuck into short golden-coloured hair, and the matching bodysuit that seemed to be covering all of their skin. It was as they turned around with wide emerald eyes—all of it, even the sclera—that were framed by a mask that was made of the same material as the rest of the outfit, covering the eyes and part of their nose.

It was a male, she realised. A male that she had never seen before almost completely covered in a bodysuit, with fake cat ears pinned into his hair, and a belt wrapped around his waist that fell down at his back to act as a tail.

“...Who are you?” Marinette choked out, surprise clear in her voice as her wide eyes darted between his equally shocked face and the watering can that he was still clutching in one hand. “Are you—did you come here to water my _plants_?”

He blinked slowly. “I—yes?”

There was a bell around his neck, too. He had gloves and boots on, but she couldn't tell whether they were connected to the rest of the suit or not—not that it mattered, considering she'd ventured outside to find an intruder casually making themselves at home on her balcony. Hell, did it even count as trespassing if it was her balcony? He had been too preoccupied with his task, not bothering to climb through the trapdoor, if he'd arrived to rob her blind.

She turned her fallen watering can upright to stop the liquid flowing out. “Y-you dressed like that to water my plants?” Marinette questioned, incredulous. “Aren't you here to rob me?”

“Well, I've been accused of stealing hearts before, but this is just ridiculous,” the leather-clad male drawled, expression warming up from the momentarily panic. His shoulders stopped being tense, and he visibly relaxed before her, which baffled her even more so. “I'm a honourable citizen, Marinette. It's not my fault that you're too high on drugs to realise my good intentions.”

The prescribed medicine wasn't strong enough to make her drowsy or hallucinate strangers, though. Warily narrowing her eyes at the casual use of her name, she took a step towards him and demanded, “Why are you here?”

When his lips stretched into a large grin, the mask adjusted to the change of his face, making her assume that the material was flexible as it didn't dig into his eyes from his raised cheeks. Dimples showed on his cheeks as he did so, and to her absolute amazement, the ears that were perched in his hair _moved—_ they were little flaps of leather, clearly not functional, but it wasn't the wind that made them twitch.

“I heard from a valuable source that you were in the hospital—well, I was told that you were still _there—_ and they were worried about your plants dying off from lack of love and affectionate,” the blond-haired male explained enthusiastically, a dramatic hand gesturing towards the pots that had water splashed across the sides. “It's my duty to look after all the precious things our city holds, including flowers that are as beautiful as you.”

The medicine really wasn't strong enough to imagine what she was seeing. Marinette blinked slowly before she took a step back, feeling a mixture of alarm and bewilderment as the wide smile was directed at her again, and all she had to say was, “If you're not gone in five minutes, I'm calling the police.”

That caused him to throw his head back and cackle. “As charming as your drugged state is, this cat has to go home now. Try not to fall down any more stairs, Marinette. I'm not known as your friendly neighbourhood gardener.”

And with that said, he reached behind him to grasp something she couldn't quite make out, gripping it in front of him with a lopsided smile before it expanded, the baton transforming into a silver staff that was roughly the size of him—taller than her by a head. She watched with wide eyes as he proceeded to vault himself from her balcony onto a nearby rooftop with ease, disappearing into the night in a matter of seconds that should've been impossible.

Maybe it was the drugs.

-x-

Other than the sudden appearance of the strange gardener—who she was still slightly convinced that she'd made up, as there was no scientific explanation on how a staff would've allowed him to spring into the air in such a way, let alone to be uninjured—there wasn't much that had changed in her short time away. Marinette noticed in surprise that her muscles seemed to be more prominent than the last time she'd checked, definition clear on her stomach when she moved which had amazed her. She didn't check her weight often or attend the gym, let alone count the calories of her food, so to suddenly realise that her body was above-average filled her with glee.

She was an average sixteen-year-old, height slightly smaller than most, that achieved good grades in classes. When passed on the street, she wasn't the type that would be assumed to be muscular—hell, she hadn't even thought it of herself.

She must've been doing something right the past few months.

After she'd finished getting dressed for school and had her breakfast under her mother's watchful eye, Marinette had almost been about to leave before her mother called out about her forgotten bag. It was a small pink-coloured one that would hang off of her shoulder by a long strap; she recognised it, of course, but it wasn't one that she wore everyday, let alone when she already had a backpack filled with her books and needed supplies for school.

Her mother thrust it into her hands still, so she obediently wore it as she met Alya out of the front of her parents' store, the scent of freshly baked goods filling the air. Alya linked their arms together as they walked, chattering about the antics of their class-mates that she missed from her absence. They laughed as they crossed the street, the red-head went purposely slow when they had to step back onto the curb, dramatically making sure Marinette was safe the whole way.

“I'd kiss you if I didn't know how jealous Nino would be,” Marinette joked as they entered through the school gates, climbing the steps towards the door. “You're going to do this between every class, aren't you?”

Showing her teeth as she grinned, Alya confirmed, “Absolutely.”

Class-mates welcomed her back and asked about her injury with actual concern, and she tentatively raised her hand to hover over where she knew the wound to be as she explained away her carelessness with embarrassment. She took her place beside Alya in their chosen seats, glad once more that they'd out grown the need for seating plans, and raised her hand to grin and wave as the rest of the class trickled in before the bell.

Alya's boyfriend since they were fourteen, Nino, came in with headphones covering his ears. He wore his usual red hat—that teachers told him to remove constantly—that covered his dark curls that had been cut short, and he raised a fist to bump against hers with a smile as he sat down. She'd been in his classes since she was little, only getting to know him properly when Alya transferred to their school when they were thirteen.

The other member of their make-shift group transferred back then, too. Adrien entered the room with a yawn, a hand raised to rub at his sleepy eyes before he caught sight of her, visibly brightening as he exclaimed that he was happy to see she was okay.

Marinette returned the smile genuinely. Their friendship had been rocky at first due to a misunderstanding, and then when she'd developed a horribly embarrassing crush after witnessing him being a nice person, shot with the sudden realisation of attraction for his kindness, award-winning smile, and awkwardness when faced with new people. It had resulted in her hands becoming clammy whenever she saw his dimples, stuttering awfully when she saw him touch his blond hair while looking at her, and it had taken her nearly a year to have a real conversation with him back when she was thirteen.

“Dude, did you stay up late again?” Nino greeted him with a laugh.

Adrien narrowed his green-coloured eyes at him.

The teacher came in after that, interrupting before there was a chance for banter, and Marinette pulled out her required equipment, not feeling the need to have the painkillers that she'd placed in her bag. The second bag was resting innocently with the strap across her breasts, and she was curious why her mother had given it to her in the first place.

After lunch, and in the middle of one of the lessons, Marinette gained permission to excuse herself to the toilet by a surly-faced teacher. She adjusted her hair in the mirror, tucking the loose strands behind her ears, after she'd washed her hands, and just as she was about to leave the bathroom she heard a faint noise.

Knitting her eyebrows together in confusion, she checked once more that she was alone in the room. The stalls were empty, and students weren't allowed to freely roam the halls while classes were in lesson.

Suddenly, there was a cluster of red confetti-like shapes forming in the air in front of her, floating in place and merging together to make a shape, and she jumped back with a shriek from the surprise. She almost slipped, only just catching herself by grabbing onto the sink for stability as the pieces became a small crimson-coloured creature that was smaller than her hand, head larger than the thin body by three times the size,

Utterly perplexed, Marinette watched as they opened their eyes—large with cerulean irides—that were framed by eyelashes, despite the fact there was no fur or eyebrows on the creature. They were a strange thing with three black dots decorating the head, two antennae that stopped halfway down their body, and as they did a twirl after fully materialising, she noticed the small tail that had three tips at the back.

“Oh, Marinette!” they gushed, floating closer to her in an impressive show of speed. There was no wings, no part of the body that explained how they were able to fly or move around at will, but at that point Marinette was wondering whether she'd hit her head hard enough to hallucinate. “I've been so worried about you. It's been terrible waiting to get you alone, but I'm so glad you're okay!”

She gulped. First the stranger on her balcony had known her name, now the hovering creature with no nose was acting familiar was concerned about her.

Moving closer, the red-coloured being reached out to touch her nose in what was supposed to be comfort. Marinette jerked back, back slamming into the sink from the sudden movement, and she hissed in pain, almost doubling over from the sudden sensation.

There was concern in their voice as they asked, “Marinette, are you okay?”

A bubble of laughter escaped her. “I'm actually hallucinating. Oh, this is just freaking brilliant.”

“Oh, _no_ ,” the creature agreed with her, hovering close and in front of her face, but not reaching out to touch her again. She didn't think she could deal with actually being touched, being able to feel that what was happening was real would've made her laughter turn slightly hysterical. “Do you need me to try and get your medicine for you? I'm sure I can try and sneak my way in there, I've managed it before!”

She stared at the bright and happy being in front of her.

They looked at her right back, tilting their head quizzically to the side in an adorable fashion. For something so terrifying and defying all logic, the large eyes and tiny hands helped to ease the discomfort of suddenly seeming them.

“How do you know that I have medicine in my other bag?” she asked instead of the other questions that were nagging her.

Their mouth stretched into a happy smile. “I was watching, of course! I know I promised to stay in your bag when your parents are around, but I was concerned about you, Marinette. I couldn't fly through the windows to check on you in the hospital, so I had to try the next best thing—I tried to hide myself away in your mother's bag, only to realise I was too tired to transport myself out of there.”

Not sure whether to be amused by the rambling, or horrified by the thought of whatever strange being it was in front of her being close to her parents, Marinette blurted, “I'm sorry, what?”

“It was horribly cramped; definitely not an experience I'll be repeating soon.” They bobbed their head up-and-down in a comical-looking nod. “I managed to free myself last night and stole some of the cookies in the kitchen. I'm very sorry if you get in trouble for that, Marinette.”

“I— _what_?” she asked eloquently. “Are you trying to say you were trapped in a bag for a week and you didn't starve?”

A snicker escaped them. It was sweet and high-pitched, just like the rest of their voice. “Don't be silly, you know I can't starve. Phasing takes a lot out of me, and I tried multiple ways to try and visit you after you fell.”

“Right.” She blinked. “Just—who are you? I mean, asking what you are would be a good question, too, but you seem to know who I am while I'm here honestly thinking that I'm losing my mind. You're also surprisingly cute for a supernatural monster. I think it might be the big blue eyes, it's like looking at a tiny puppy.”

As the words spilled out of her, the creature hovered curiously in front of her, the flesh where eyebrows should've been moving to show their visible confusion. It was nice to know that they could still express themselves despite the lack of nose and hair.

“Marinette,” they started, voice soft and worry clear in their tone. “Does Ladybug mean anything to you?”

Slowly, she replied, “Yes? They're cute little bugs; spotted, like you.”

A sigh escaped them as they raised their little arms to cover their face. They couldn't reach above their eyes, but the general idea was there, and she quickly realised with a start that she'd disappointed the strange being before her somehow.

She skipped the rest of class, using the excuse of her head hurting to be sent home by the nurse—who only promised not to call her parents because she lied and said they were already picking her up outside of the school—and the whole way home thoughts and concerns were swirling in her head. Tikki, the creature introduced herself as.

Tikki was a kwami, like Marinette was a human. It didn't make sense to her at first—well, it still didn't even after the patient explanation where she was close to flailing and squeaking whenever she responded—but she learned that kwamis were powerful genderless beings, and hers in particular preferred feminine pronouns. She had the power to turn her into a superhero by infusing herself with the earrings that were in Marinette's ears, definitely not the studs that she remembered wearing before the accident, and the blue-eyed creature had explained that Marinette had been her chosen, her _gifted_ , for four years.

Insistent that she couldn't have forgotten an important part of her life from knocking her head, Marinette didn't willingly believe the information until she typed in Ladybug on the internet.

As it turned out, the male that had been watering her plants was Chat Noir, her parent, another holder of a miraculous—the used term for the earrings that allowed Marinette to transform, although the item changed per the kwami's preferences—and her best friend.

“You've seen him almost every week for the past four years, Marinette,” Tikki patiently explained when Marinette had paled from finding a picture of the leather-clad male. “You trust each other with your lives, even if you don't remember that right now.”

That was the thing, though. Marinette could've sworn that there had never been a villain named Papillon before she hit her head. To hear that there was a miraculous holder that had malicious intentions and terrible ideas, using his kwami to infect wronged civilians to turn into distorted versions of themselves that obeyed him without question, was terrifying. Even more so when it was revealed that it was all for Papillon's pursuit of her own miraculous, along with Chat Noir's, and that the city was constantly torn apart and ravaged.

She stared at the image of herself dressed in a red-coloured bodysuit, decorated with black spots that matched Tikki's design. It was tight, a thick material that she couldn't identify from the pictures, with dotted mask to try and obscure her face. From what she could tell there was some sort of a weapon in her hand, but it was frozen from the picture, therefore hard to identify, too.

She was panicking, really. It was no wonder the body she was in was muscular if she was acting as a superhero every few days, saving civilians from brainwashed victims. None of this had happened in her world; no masked heroes, villains with the power to control those that were wallowing in self-pity, and there certainly hadn't been magical creatures that had the ability to fuse with objects of their choosing.

Taking in a deep breath, Marinette tried to look for any more differences. She ignored Tikki's worried stare as she searched her body for scars or bruises, only coming up with the place where she'd had stitches at the back of her head.

“My magic heals all the wrongs that happen by the hand of the akuma,” Tikki explained, the patient smile on her face once more. “Otherwise the city would look quite horrible destroyed, don't you agree?” A giggle accompanied that rhetorical question.

There was absolutely no way that she was in the same world; sure, the buildings looked the same, her family and friends— _everyone—_ appeared to have identical personalities and traits, but she was certain that she'd remember magical villains, let alone being a fucking superhero.

“I—Tikki?” Marinette tried, wincing at her pronunciation. “What... I mean to ask, does anything happen if a miraculous holder is seriously injured?”

She blinked owlishly, cutely tilting her head as she floated forward to rest on Marinette's shoulder. There was barely any weight there, hard to notice unless she was looking. “It's difficult for you to be injured, especially when you're in your suit. That's how you and Chat Noir manage to push your bodies past the usual capabilities—magic.”

“Okay, but what about if they get injured out of the suit?” she questioned, making sure to choose her wording carefully. It was her hope that the kwami would catch onto her absurd meaning quickly, either to reject or confirm the strange idea. “Do—do you move on?”

A humming noise sounded. “You're capable of being injured out of it, of course! You're still a normal human being, Marinette,” Tikki explained, levitating so she was hovering a few centimetres off of her shoulder, using her hands—that had no fingers—to emphasise her words. “I only move on when you willingly give up the rights to my miraculous.”

“That's not really answering my question,” she muttered. “What if I, hypothetically, hit my head so hard that I became brain dead?”

“That's an unpleasant situation to imagine.” Tikki's large eyes stared up at her, conveying sadness and concern all at once. “I've never had my chosen harmed so without their heart stopping due to the injury.”

Well, that was one way to say that previous holders had died. Marinette ran a hand through her hair to occupy her twitching hands to give herself something to do, trying to think of the best questions to ask. It was clear that something supernatural had happened, which didn't seem that far-fetched when her counterpart was apparently a superhero.

There wasn't time to ask, though. Marinette flinched as she became aware of the resounding screams outside in the streets, the sheer volume and amount of them causing her to stand up and rush to a window, trying to see what the commotion was about. Tikki hovered beside her, a quiet gasp escaping, and all Marinette could hope was that it wasn't a situation that required the transformation.

When Tikki announced that Ladybug was needed, all that came out of the dark-haired female's lips was, “ _Fuck_.”

-x-

There hadn't been time to explain how the transformation worked fully. Marinette said the words that Tikki told her to, watch in a mixture of awe and terror as the kwami flew around her head until she merged into her earrings, and then her clothing was changed into the red-and-black bodysuit that she'd seen splashed across the internet.

“I really wish this was because of the drugs,” she grumbled, hand running through her hair as she pondered the success rate she had.

While Chat Noir had his baton—staff, whatever the hell it was since it was clearly magical—she had a bandalore attached to her waist. She pulled out the item, taking note that it was the perfect size for her hand, and inspected the similar colour scheme that matched her outfit. It was clearly meant to show that it was hers, but she doubted that anyone would dare to try and steal it while she was transformed. From what Tikki had been trying to tell her, Ladybug and Chat Noir were considered heroes for a reason.

She climbed through to her trapdoor, stepping out onto her balcony rather than risking trying to sneak out of the bottom floor.

Chat Noir had been able to leap from her roof without a problem due to his miraculous. Magic could do any things, she tried to reassure herself with that thought as she held the bandalore in her hand.

She took in a deep breath and muttered, “Oh, screw it.”

Slipping the small hoop of the bandalore around her finger for safety—she assumed that was how it worked, oh, _goodness_ , she wished she'd watched the videos while she had the chance—Marinette threw the tool out across to a neighbouring rooftop, watching with wide eyes, eyelashes pressing against the material of the mask, as it looped around a stray chimney.

There was a moment of peace before she was flying across the street, air hitting her harshly in the face, hair pushed back as she travelled and paled from the sudden adrenaline and the awkward feeling in her stomach, and she hastily jerked her arm so the string would unwind from the building, making it so the bandalore hurdled to the next roof, catching onto something to propel her.

It was strange, absolutely absurd, something that belonged in films, but it was happening. Choked noises of panic escaped her every time she was sure she was about to hit a building, but the sound was drowned out by the screaming of the civilians below, all too preoccupied with running to look up and see her pathetic attempts at travel.

It was working, at least. Marinette supposed that was the magic aspect of the miraculous, helping her through when she should've fallen to the ground from her first jump. The fact that she'd seen Chat Noir vault himself with a metal pole assured her that it was possible.

She paused on some of the rooftops, amazed that she was able to stay balanced in the suit, checking the crowds and attempting to pinpoint the location she was needed in. Gosh, she just hoped that Chat Noir was able to give her good advice; he was supposedly her trusted partner, and he was most likely going to have to work alone that afternoon.

It was a good thing that school was still in session. Ladybug was a big deal—she had websites dedicated to her that she hadn't clicked on yet—and if she wasn't present because she hadn't met Tikki yet, she was sure there would've been panic. Well, they could still panic, considering she had absolutely no idea what to do.

When she caught sight of him in the distance, casually leaning against a lamppost with the belt that acted as a tail moving with what she hoped to be the wind, she clumsily crashed down beside him, chest heaving as she tried to get her breathing under control. Tikki was right, though; despite falling to the floor, the aches and pains were minimal, no broken bones like she should've had from falling from a great height.

“Finally falling for me are you, Ladybug?” Chat Noir chuckled, crouching down beside her. “I knew it would happen eventually if I kept my hopes up.”

She pressed a hand to her chest to feel her frantically beating heart. “I—hi,” Marinette greeted him awkwardly.

Amused, he replied, “Hello to you, too. As much as I'd like to get down and dirty with you on the floor, we have other matters to deal with first.”

And with that said, he gestured a glove-clad hand towards the buildings that had bricks smashed, destruction clear across the whole street. The civilians had evacuated the area quickly, their screaming being what had alerted her in the first place.

Her performance was absolutely atrocious. Wearing a magical bodysuit didn't stop her ability for tripping over—Chat Noir had ran to her side to offer a hand to help her up—but it did stop there being pain. Marinette tried her best to defeat the villain, but she only knew the basics; that there was an infected item on the victim that Papillon's miraculous had altered, and it needed to be destroyed for everything to be returned to normal.

That raised the question of how she had to figure that out, however. Her partner was quick on his feet, happy to taunt and irritate their brainwashed enemy, and it became clear that they had to gather information from their rants—they would become infected from their negative feelings, and then attempt to inflict vengeance for what had made them upset, all while trying to achieve Papillon's plan of stealing her earrings and Chat Noir's ring (she found that out when the villain shouted out for him to hand it over).

It was no wonder her body was muscular when she was able to wrap the bandalore around a fallen car and flip it out of their way. There was barely any strain on her arms, no indication that she should've been out of breath and in pain, and it seemed that her breathlessness had appeared on her journey over because of her panic, not stamina.

She learned why Ladybug was essential for fighting akumas, though. Chat Noir raised his hand into the air at one point, when he'd successfully identified the object they needed to destroy, black particles appearing around his glove, similar to how Tikki had looked when she'd phased through her bag. It was completely different for him; for once his gloved hand made contact with the first thing he touched, which happened to be made of metal, the blackness seeped into it, colouring the item, and then it fell apart, turning into a destroyed state before her eyes in a matter of seconds.

“Get the akuma, Ladybug!” he called out to her, making her stiffen from surprise, realising that she was standing there gawking at the show of his powers.

Somehow, she managed to fumble forwards, one hand holding onto the bandalore while the other reached out to catch the black-coloured butterfly that had appeared from the wreckage. She couldn't describe how it felt due to the gloves, but it appeared to be _glowing—_ as did Chat Noir's eyes, and she was still disturbed by the green sclera—and she figured that her chosen weapon had to have a handy ability, so she nervously placed the newly freed akuma into it.

When nothing happened after it had been locked inside, sealed tight by closing it, Chat Noir skidded beside her, fake ears twitching as he asked, “What are you _doing_?”

“I don't know,” Marinette answered quietly, voice thick from confusion.

He had a special power, though, so surely she did, too?

“That's not what you have to do!” he frantically explained, looking far more panicked than before, even though the villain they'd been fighting was slumped on the floor, unconscious. “Come on, Ladybug, are you okay?”

She ran a suit-clad hand through her hair, frustrated and lost, as she desperately asked, “What am I missing?”

“Your summoned object, you know? The things you normally conjure out of thin air and manage to save the day with?” Chat Noir rambled, tail flicking from side-to-side as he spoke. “I know I outdid myself by single-handedly managing to get the akuma today, but that doesn't mean you need to revert into a rookie because I impressed you, my lady.”

Maybe that was her special power, then. She wasn't exactly sure how many they had each, or about much at all. Tikki hadn't been able to explain the fights fully because Marinette had distracted her with questions about injuries, and _oh—_ she wished that it wasn't happening, desperately, but apparently she'd messed up already.

So, she asked what she had to do. Chat Noir looked visibly confused and taken aback, but when a strange beeping sound appeared, he was startled enough to rush and tell her to throw her bandalore into the air to summon an object.

It fell into her hands, and she noted that it matched her suit, too. As the akuma had already been caught, she did as she was told and opened the bandalore once more, eyes wide as a white butterfly fluttered out of it, no longer corrupted.

The item must've usually been used to apprehend the villain in the midst of battle, but at that moment she was holding it awkwardly in her hands, glancing at Chat Noir for confirmation. With a confused expression, he motioned upwards with what she assumed to be raised eyebrows—they were hidden by the mask—and whispered the words that she had to say.

With the added strength to her body, the object flew into the sky, reaching further than any ball she had ever thrown, dissolving into a swarm of ladybug that were illuminated by pink light as they soared through the streets, repairing the damage that was done within seconds; as soon as the swarm touched a dent, or even a broken part of a building, when the light was removed, it was back to the condition it had been in before the akuma had appeared.

Marinette fiddled with the bandalore in her hands, dumbfounded. “Well, that happened,” she remarked dumbly.

Chat Noir shot her another concerned look, clearly conflicted on whether to press her for details of her poor performance, but the sound of beeping caused him to still once more. Her eyes flickered down in time to see that his ring had an illuminated paw print on it, noting that part of it was missing, only one tiny bit remaining.

“I have to go,” he blurted, shooting her a worried look once more before his gaze averted to look down at the ring.

“Wait, what?” Marinette asked, reaching out to try and grab onto him, but then she heard the high-pitched sound coming from herself, close to her ears, and she missed her chance to stop him from leaving. “Don't just leave!”

The staff was extended again, and before he pushed off to jump to a ridiculous height he shouted, “I'll be waiting for you tonight, Ladybug!”

Left alone, Marinette's attention was turned to the unconscious victim, only to find that crowds had started to surface, and medical attention was being directed at them. She stood there awkward, not knowing whether to approach to explain herself, to comfort the wounded—but they were passed out from the shock, and she was starting to suspect there was a time limit from the beeping of her earrings—but it was from the sight of reporters that had appeared waving frantically to catch her attention that made her pale.

Getting back home was just as terrifying as leaving. It was broad daylight and civilians weren't running in fear any more, so she locked herself in a public toilet, staring at her suit-clad hands and wondering how to make the transformation revert.

The fifth beep confirmed her theory of a time limit as the bodysuit disappeared, her old clothing unwrinkled and clean, and then Tikki was there floating weakly in front of her, eyes half-lidded. She reached out quickly to catch the falling creature, utterly lost as the kwami lost consciousness.

It was surreal.

-x-

After quietly asking for cookies, which turned out to be the kwami's preferred form of sustenance, Tikki sincerely apologised for not being able to explain the situation properly. When infused with the earrings, Tikki was unable to communicate with her, but she was aware of everything, which meant that she was able to talk Marinette through her mistakes.

Chat Noir was unable to purify the akumas himself, along with magically fix the damage to the city, so that was where she came in. Usually, the fights would take skilful techniques from the both of them, teamwork and trust to help find the infected item and then comfort the victim, all of which she'd messed up the routine of on her first day.

When her parents were in bed—early, as they always woke up before dawn—Marinette carefully made her way downstairs and out the front door. As impressive as it was leaping from her balcony, she didn't want to experience it again so soon. Tikki had helped her understand what she was missing, informing her of the usual spots that she and Chat Noir met up to talk strategy, spar and practice together before they parted ways to rest after an attack.

Papillon resided in their city, never attacking any of the others. There was no reason to patrol the streets and lose precious sleep when the screams would alert them of any malicious presences, and there were news reporters with designated jobs specifically for keeping an eye on akumas. The attacks happened on average one or twice a month for the past four years, and the only clues they had to Papillon's identity was that they never infected anyone past eleven o'clock at night.

“Oh, wow,” Marinette drawled. “They sleep, then, what a shocker.”

Tikki had snickered, not offended by the sarcasm.

Chat Noir was easy to spot sitting on the edge of a roof, legs hanging dangerously over the edge as he looked up at the sky above.

Before approaching, she entered a nearby alley and transformed, flexing her suit-clad fingers with a blank expression. It still felt strange and surreal, and when she padded towards him, head tilted back to see him sitting at such a height above, her stomach clenched from thinking of climbing up there.

She settled instead with shouting, “ _Hey_!”

He didn't jump. Chat Noir leaned forward, teetering dangerously on the edge and almost falling off, as his lips stretched into a large grin. “And here I thought you stood this handsome cat up.”

Tucking stray hairs behind her ear, Marinette asked, “Can you come down here?”

“Will you catch me?” he questioned, the smile turning lopsided.

She wouldn't trust herself to do that. Shaking her head, Marinette exclaimed loudly, “We need to talk!”

“You best get up here, then, Ladybug.” He had the gall to wink at her, laughing to himself as he leaned back so he was lying down, legs still hanging off the edge, moving every few seconds as he kicked them around for his amusement. “I'm waiting!”

With a sigh, she retrieved the bandlore from her waist, hands holding it tightly for a moment before she secured her finger in the hoop, pulling her arm back and throwing it above her with a wince.

There was a strangled yelp from him, and then the bandalore came tumbling down. Marinette moved forward to catch it, bewildered, until she registered that it was from pain—

“I'm sorry!” she shouted, voice higher-pitched than usual from the mistake.

As Chat Noir audibly groaned, she tried again, managing to loop the string around something rather than hitting him again, and there as a moment of stillness again before she was pulled forward, body lifted into the air. She clumsily landed on the roof, on her hands and knees trying to regain her balance with her heart beating wildly, and a look to the side proved that he was still on his back, staring at her with a confused expression.

She offered him a shaky smile as she placed the bandalore back on her waist. “I—sorry about that.”

“Is everything okay?” the blond-haired male questioned, sitting upright, one knee pressed against his chest, so it was one less leg off the edge of the roof. “You've been acting strangely today, Ladybug.”

That was a loaded question. Marinette sat down beside him, crossing her legs as she fiddled with her hands on her lap, avoiding her gaze as she realised that the concern wasn't for her, really; it was for the Ladybug that she assumed she'd replaced (and managed to possibly ruin the reputation of in one day).

“There was an accident,” she started, voice soft and insecure all at once. When he made no move to interrupt, she took it as an affirmative to continue, “I— _she_ —”

A hand was placed on her shoulder in comfort. “If you don't feel comfortable telling me, you don't have to.”

“It involves you,” the dark-haired female blurted, eyes flickering up to see his furrowed brow—the mask moved his face, making it clear—before she averted her gaze again. “How do you get the transformation to drop?”

“...What?”

Marinette awkwardly gestured to her earrings. “You know.”

“Are you trying to test me so I don't spill our secrets to reporters?” Chat Noir questioned, a hand raised to fiddle with his messy hair. “Or, better yet, is this a new safety question in case an akuma impersonates us again? It hasn't happened in a few years.”

Frustrated, she frantically shook her head, hair slapping against her cheeks in the process. “I'm serious here—how?”

Blinking, he answered just as slowly as his eyelids have moved, “You say the opposite.”

That was so terribly simple that she felt embarrassed from not thinking of it in the first place. Marinette reached up to gently hold an earring, not feeling warmth or any kind of new texture that meant that it was actively infused. Under her breath, she whispered the reverse words, removing her hand from her ear to stare at them in her lap, watching as the bodysuit transformed back into her clothing; the jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt that she'd been wearing as she navigated the streets searching for him.

Beside her Chat Noir let out a strangled noise, and she looked up, bewildered, to find that he was turned away to the opposite direction. “What are you _doing_?”

Tikki fell into her open hands, blue-coloured eyes wide and equally surprised. She mouthed her name at her, not speaking aloud, content just to stay in Marinette's gentle hold.

“I'm not Ladybug,” she blurted before wincing, regretting her word choice. “I mean, I am—I _was—_ gosh, this is really confusing to try and say. Why aren't you looking at me?”

Adamantly turned away, allowing her to see his tense shoulders as he kept his back to her, Chat Noir heatedly retorted, “Because we haven't shared our identities yet for a good reason.”

“Oh,” she remarked dumbly. Shooting a wide-eyed look at Tikki, who shrugged in reply to her, still staring with the shocked expression that she was sure Chat Noir was mirroring. “I—I thought we had? I mean, you were watering my plants and everything.”

He did choke that time. “D-don't tell me!” Chat Noir managed to chastise her with a hoarse voice once he'd recovered from the coughing fit, face bound to have been coloured red. “Just—what's going on right now?”

“I—” Marinette started before she cleared her throat to interrupt herself. “Ladybug was in an accident, and before this morning, I'd never seen an akuma or even heard of Papillon.”

There was silence after that. The tenseness didn't leave his body, and she was sat there in her casual clothing, legs crossed beside the edge of a building, able to look down an impossible height to see the darkened street that she should've been walking on. Tikki had understood her explanation when she'd explained it, saying that it could've been possible; that her miraculous had grasped onto another version of herself—the nearest matching her—and pulled them through, so there was still a Ladybug when she was needed.

Incredulously, the blond-haired male enquired lowly, “Are you trying to tell me you _replaced_ Ladybug?”

“I-I'm not an akuma, honest,” she replied quickly, stumbling over her words. “I have Tikki in my hands and everything, okay? You know, the reason that Ladybug exists at all?”

The red-coloured kwami levitated herself into the sky, floating over to hover by his face, placing a comforting hand on his cheek, reminiscent to how she'd tried to calm Marinette down in the beginning. Rather than pull away as she had done, he turned his head slightly to look at her, and Marinette was able to make out the sad curve of his frown. She listened as Tikki explained that it was true, that she didn't know that it was possible beforehand, and he listened silently, body stiff and clearly disbelieving as the little creature spoke.

Tikki stayed there after she'd said everything she needed to—the accident, Marinette's initial panic (without mentioning her name, though that seemed pointless after the gardening comment), trying to say comforting words to make him feel better—hovering in front of him with her large blue-coloured eyes looking into his, mirroring his sadness and grief.

It was personal, something that shouldn't have been a part of. She fiddled with her hands to keep herself busy, eyes averted to give them a sense of privacy.

It was some minutes later that he croaked, “I need to think about this.”

As it was understandable, she didn't interrupt. Marinette watched as he stood up stiffly, still with his back to her, and she was able to see that the baton was stored by his tail, and walked to the opposite end of the roof before jumping away with the powers given by the suit.

Tikki wandered over to her, gently touching Marinette's nose. “He'll come around, Marinette.”

Well, they did have to fight together in the future.

-x-

It was strange. With Marinette looking out for differences as she was certain she'd swapped worlds with another version of herself, the only changes she could find were purely magical. Class-mates were the same; they had the inside jokes, had known her for the same duration of time, and none of the relationships she'd had been altered. Her parents were happy and bright-eyed, her grades hadn't changed, and the only difference seemed to be her disappearances in class when akumas appeared.

Alya, her red-haired best friend of the past four years, was an avid Ladybug fan. She ran one of the blogs that she'd seen online, chased after the superheroes when they were fighting to try and catch decent footage to use, often getting herself in trouble within the chaos. The rest of her class-mates had positive opinions of the crime-fighting duo—even the ones that she didn't particularly like—and she even found a statue dedicated to the two of them in the city.

It was madness, truly. While Ladybug and Chat noir were hailed for their heroic deeds, Papillon was someone that wasn't mentioned often, and Marinette spent hours searching for a picture of them at all, trying to find out the information she could. Tikki had been the one to tell her the most, filling her in on the previous battles while Marinette watched found footage online, gaping in awe as her counterpart pulled off flips and impressive moves that she hadn't seen anyone other than gymnasts be able to do successfully.

As there were no akuma attacks, she went around her daily routine as though nothing had changed. There were a few comments about the superheroes through the day, to which she replied with an awkward smile and tried to stay out of, and it was easy to convince herself that nothing was amiss when she was able to freely laugh and joke, to visit cafés with her friends after school before they were whisked away to go home.

Alya had only gained a new hobby of stalking superheroes, to which Nino supported her and indulged her at times, trying to make sure she was safe when the situation turned dangerous (he was happy to point out that he'd pushed her out of the way of falling brick whenever she said that her ideas were always great). Adrien admired both of of the heroes, and was happy to talk with Alya whenever she ranted, but his free time was still occupied by being a model for his father's fashion brand.

They were only small differences, then.

After a week had passed of normal activities, getting to know Tikki in her free time and escorting the kwami around with her that the extra bag each day, Marinette was shocked when she travelled up to her balcony before school to find that her plants were already watered.

It hadn't rained; the flooring was dry, and only some of the water had spilled out to wet the side of the pots. She stood there awkwardly with her watering can for a moment before she left it up there, still filled, and it was the following day that she came back to find it emptied.

Chat Noir had visited, then. Her parents didn't go up to her balcony often, and definitely not to water her plants as they were her responsibility, and she had a small hope that that meant that he wasn't as upset as he had been previously from her slip of her identity. Although he wasn't communicating with her directly, or even knocking on the trapdoor to try and catch her attention (because he was surely visiting when she was in her bedroom), it was better than flat out ignoring her.

They had to work together the following week. It was awkward and clumsy. Marinette managed to trip over into the villain while holding her summoned object—the item being what had caused her to fall in the first place—and Chat Noir took that as his sign to intercept and break the infected possession with his special ability. She managed to do things in the right order that time, at least, and when the damage was repaired, she squatted down beside the dizzy-eyed victim, offering to stay until the ambulance arrived.

Chat Noir stayed, too, silently on the other side and keeping to himself. It wasn't the playful personality that she'd seen in videos, let alone the described behaviour she'd found that people had written papers on.

Tikki assured her that he'd come around between bites of her cookie, crumbs falling onto Marinette's open hands as she tried to avoid mess.

“You're still you,” the kwami insisted, bright eyes staring at her imploringly. “The Marinette before you screamed the first time she saw me, too.”

She scrunched her facial features together in distaste. “I wouldn't say I screamed.”

Tikki laughed, a high-pitched sound that she'd become increasingly familiar with. The morning after the akuma fight where she'd turned over in her bed to see the red-coloured creature snoozing on her bed and scared her, almost causing her to fall on the floor, until she caused herself to relax. They'd gotten along after that as the kwami was kind, caring, and surprisingly mature for such a little thing; she was like an older sister figure that was there to help her through her problems.

Sometimes when they worked together, she noticed that Chat Noir would glance at her when she was looking elsewhere, and would immediately avert his eyes when they make eye contact. During fights he shouted, directing her to the best of his ability, and sometimes he raised his fist with the intention of bumping it against hers in victory before his face crumpled and he pulled back, stricken.

The flowers still being watered cheered her up, though. She'd fill up the watering can in the late afternoon, leaving it beside the chair on the balcony for him to use, as she was sure travelling up there with water bottles was hard to do. There wasn't a day that passed that he missed, and it was steady reassurance that he wasn't shutting her out completely. They were able to get past Marinette's fumbles when akumas were present, awkwardly saying good-bye after they'd made sure the victim was in safe hands, and it was after a month and a half had passed that she turned an alarm on to wake up before her parents.

With dawn approaching in the upcoming hours—and a weekend to recover from the early rise—Marinette wrapped herself up in a dressing gown, placed her shoes on and hovered by the trapdoor, trying to listen out for noise.

There was an audible noise as he landed on her balcony. Marinette perked up, opening the trapdoor as carefully as she could, and climbed out without capturing his attention.

He wasn't expecting her to appear, much like the first time she'd found him on outside. Chat Noir stood with his back to her, the watering can she'd filled up in his hands as he steadily poured far too much liquid into the pots, watching as it spilled over the tops.

“I thought you didn't want to be known as a friendly neighbour gardener,” Marinette started, voice thick and tired.

He froze, arm jerking away from the surprise and causing the water to fall onto the floor. The blond recovered quickly, setting the watering can down on the floor, other hand reaching behind his back to grasp onto the baton that was secured there.

Walking forward quickly, she grasped onto his covered arm in an attempt to get him to stay. “Wait, please.”

Although he didn't say anything, the hand that he'd been reaching for his escape dropped down by his side. She could see the tension in his shoulders—one that she was face-level with—and she felt a gnawing guilt from knowing that she was the cause of it.

“I'm still her, you know,” the dark-haired female started softly, voice no longer cracking. “I—I know it's hard to believe, but I'm the her that never met Tikki.”

There was a beat of silence, causing her grip to tighten around his wrist, before Chat Noir quietly enquired, “And how am I supposed to believe that?”

She licked her lips.

“To me, nothing else has changed,” she tried to explain. “My friends are the same—we even have the same jokes—and the only difference seems to be that in my world, I was never given a miraculous, and Papillon never rose to his twisted power. I didn't know anything had changed until Tikki found me at school, the same day of the attack I absolutely messed up at.”

“I don't know how to react around you,” he admitted low, honest. “You just—you look so alike.”

Making her hand loosen now that it was clear he wasn't going to bolt, Marinette stated, “Well, we are the same person. I just grew up without the whole superhero thing, so I'm used to a less muscular body.”

“Muscular?” he parroted, sounding confused.

A laugh escaped her at that. “Yes? I can flex for you, if you turn around.”

Shaking his head caused the golden-coloured strands of hair that fell around his ears move, but the fake ears firmly stayed in place, barely reacting to his surroundings compared to the twitching that she'd seen happening. “I'm not supposed to know your identity.”

“And I'm supposed to be a magical girl, but we both know I'm a failure at that,” Marinette mused, fingertips brushing against the material of his suit around his wrist. “I thought you knew because of the whole plant thing.”

“No, I-I just knew that you— _Marinette_ was injured, so I wanted to do something nice for her.” A hand was raised to clasp the nape of his neck in what came across as a self-conscious gesture (or it would've, if the suit wasn't in the way). “Is that why you freaked out at me, back then?”

Colour flooded her cheeks from the question. “Yes,” she quickly replied, higher-pitched than usual for the one word. “I'd never seen you before, so I honestly thought I was hallucinating. Even you seemed to think I was acting weird and blamed the drugs.”

“I'm not sure how to describe it,” Chat Noir replied, hand falling back down to grasp onto the railing, head tilted back as he stared at anything but her. “Normally you get all flustered if I so much as compliment you; now I'm starting to suspect that you've been making fun of me through the years.”

She made a contemplative noise. “Flustered?” Marinette questioned, recalling her horrendous crush that she'd had on Adrien years ago, the one that had caused her to stutter and stumble, become tongue-tied when she tried to talk to him properly. “Did I have a crush on you, perhaps?”

“Oh, no,” the blond shook his head again, sounding wistful. “With the amount of time we spent together, I would've known. We're—we were best friends.”

The words had her stomach twisting uncomfortably from a mixture of sympathy and guilt. It must've been hard for him to realise her identity and find out that the Marinette that he'd known—as Ladybug only—was gone, to be replaced with one that had no recollection of him. From what she could tell from their interactions, the clips she'd seen on the internet, and what Tikki had told her, that hadn't been an understatement, consider they'd had to literally trust each other with their lives.

They still did, too.

She wetted her lips.

“We can still be friends,” Marinette whispered, hand falling to her side as she twisted it in her dressing gown. “If you want to, that is.”

With her heart beating nervously in her chest, she watched as he slowly looked over his shoulder, peering down at her with a blank expression before a small smile appeared on his face, one that didn't quite meet his eyes, so no dimples were visible. “I'd like that,” he whispered.

A smile blossomed on her own lips.

“You'll have to call me Chat, though,” the blond remarked, reaching for the secured baton on his back. “It's not normal to scream someone's full name when the adrenaline kicks in.”

-x-

It started to get easier after that. She was able to call him Chat without feeling awkward after a few weeks, was able to somewhat control how she used her bandalore, and it was after three months in the world that her partner insisted that they needed to spar for her to improve her ability to fight. It wasn't as though she could deny it; he was clearly the experienced one when they fought akumas, and she was sure that onlookers had become aware of her inconsistencies as the fights wore on. Marinette was managing to contribute, unlike only moving a car in her first battle.

He insisted that rooftops were the best place for privacy and space to do as they pleased, and that the higher they went, the harder it was for reporters to film them.

So, it was with that in mind that she managed to pull herself upon one, no longer winded from fear whenever she moved by swinging, though her heart still spiked from the adrenaline whenever she felt the air brush violently against her cheeks. Marinette stretched her arms above her head, noting that she'd arrived at their designated location before him.

The bandalore defied logic with the things it could be used for; if spun purposely fast, it could be used as a shield, able to deflect falling rubble or stray objects. Along with purifying the akumas, creating magical items to help in battle (that resulted in five minutes left of her miraculous use—no other ability caused that), it also contained a screen that she could use to communicate with Chat's baton—which also had similar technological functions—access the internet, and help her pinpoint Chat's location with a handy mini-map.

It was everything a magical girl needed and more, and that thought had made her laugh in disbelief when Tikki had shown her all the functions, deeming her calm enough to take the news without crying.

She might've cried a little.

Chat landed down beside her with windswept hair within half an hour of her arrival. “Sorry for being late,” he said to announce himself, offering her a small smile that showed his dimples. They were sincere lately, ever since they'd tentatively decided to strike up a friendship. “I had to pretend to fall asleep so I could get out of spending time with my father.”

She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Ever since she'd seen the videos of Ladybug, she realised that if she had some sort of tie in her hair, it would transform into a red-coloured ribbon that wouldn't fall out, no matter how violent her actions would be. She'd taken to wearing her hair in a variety of styles to be prepared for the transformation after a disastrous attempt of trying to loop her bandalore around a villain, only for her hair to get in the way and for her to fail.

“We could've rescheduled,” Marinette offered, returning the grin.

As he started to warm up to her, that meant that she became accustomed to his sense of humour at inappropriate times. Sometimes, when he was fighting and making sure to wind up their opponent with ill-timed puns and taunts, she found herself laughing at them before realising that he was doing it to give her a chance to attack, not chortle in the sidelines.

Although he didn't call her nicknames—instead sticking to Ladybug—that was fine with her. It was a way for him to differentiate, something that shouldn't have hurt her, but when she saw that he continued to raise his fist at the end of a fight, an instinctual movement that he couldn't despite how she'd seen his expression crumple before, she tentatively bumped her knuckles against his.

It was worth it to see the smile that lit up his face.

“That would've required sneaking my kwami into the bathroom to transform and contact you.” He shook his head before sitting down beside her, clearly ready to talk before he attempted to teach her actual fighting moves. “He's terribly lazy and has to be bribed if there's no akuma. If I explained it was just to call you, he'd yap about it for weeks to come.”

Plagg, Chat's genderless kwami that apparently resembled a grumpy black cat, preferred male pronouns. She'd heard about him lazing around, refusing to cooperate a few times, and had grown fond from what she'd been told. Tikki was filled with knowledge about him, too; calling him the darkness to her light, explaining that their powers for opposites because they were meant to work together.

She shifted closer to him. “I have a phone for my civilian self for a reason, Chat.”

Raising his brow beneath the mask, he questioned, “Oh?”

“Yes.” Marinette bumped her shoulder gently against his, a familiar movement that she did with her friends when she wasn't clad in the bodysuit. “For friends to contact me.”

He didn't freeze up at the mention of her civilian life as he had in the beginning, but that didn't mean he was forthcoming about talking about it. She had yet to learn how he'd found out about her stay in the hospital, keeping his lips firmly closed on that information.

“I—” Chat cut himself off, hand raised to run through his messy hair, narrowly avoiding the fake ear in the way. “I don't feel comfortable doing that.”

That didn't mean he felt too awkward to water her plants. It wasn't everyday any more, only on the weekends, and she sometimes travelled up the trapdoor to spend the morning with him, offering a warm mug for the two of them to share. He hadn't taken her up on that offer yet, instead standing awkwardly until he was finished with the watering can. He was polite enough to finish their conversation before leaving, at least.

Pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them, Marinette assured him, “That's okay.”

“It's not, I—” Chat averted his gaze with a frustrated noise, hands falling onto his lap to fiddle with the tail that he'd pulled around. “I know it might not make sense, but I want to remember her by keeping the promise of not revealing our identities.”

It did make sense, a lot of it. Marinette had seen how upset he had been from learning about his Ladybug's disappearance, and she knew that it wouldn't disappear with time. Maybe, possibly, she'd be able to grow into a stronger version of herself that would be able to fill the void, but that was a long time coming. For that moment, while she had trouble remembering that screams meant that she had to run towards them, she felt helpless.

She swallowed. “I respect that, really. I haven't asked you once to reveal your identity, have I?”

“No, you haven't,” he quietly confirmed.

Taking it as her chance to continue, the dark-haired female tentatively added, “And if you ever feel guilty because you know me for who I am—the civilian me—I won't hold that against you.”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Marinette started, relaxing against her knees despite the beating of her heart. “I don't think anyone would contact a superhero just because their friend's in hospital? So, I mean, if—if you know me, that's great. I understand that you feel it's your responsibility to keep our civilians lives a secret, and I will absolutely not dislike you for it.”

From the corner of her eyes, she could see that he'd turned his head her way. “Don't you want to know who I am?”

She tilted her head, cheek pressing against her suit-clad knees as she offered him a small smile that met her eyes. “I know who you are. You're Chat Noir; pun extraordinaire, cat lover, and one of my friends. I don't need to know what you wear to school to know that I'd like you.”

There was a moment where his face stayed blank, and then a mischievous and lopsided smile blossomed on his lips, showing one dimple. “...What if I wear socks with sandals in the summer?”

She sucked in a purposely loud breath as she leaned back, dramatically placing a hand on her heart. “I accept you for your flaws.”

After that, he tried to teach her how to tackle, only for it to dissolve into laughter as they fell against the rooftop, Marinette rolling away to try and escape the ticklish feeling that appeared through her suit. The techniques that he tried to to show her ranged from lunges he'd learned in self-defence lessons, and then silly attacks that wouldn't have worked if she was truly trying to defend herself. It was fun, actually, and from the way he was smiling after their breathing was coming out in pants, she assumed that he'd enjoyed it, too.

They started meeting up once a week, deciding that Saturday nights would be the designated day to spar. It was absolutely one-sided, with Marinette falling to the floor—even off the roof at one point—and she was ever-so-thankful for the magical that was infused with the suits, making it so she didn't so much as bruise, let alone have multiple broken bones from her fall.

Marinette felt comfortable to lean against him when they were talking, and he, in turn, reached out to ruffle her hair when she tried to playfully argue her point of view, huffing and crossing her arms whenever she was treated like a child. There were flirty comments, but she knew that they had no heat behind them, especially from how careful he was not to slip up and call her one of the many nicknames that she'd heard in videos on the internet.

Chat quickly became one of her closest friends, and within five months, he actually stayed and shared her drink when she offered the mug to him one dreary morning on the weekend where he was on her balcony. Her answering smile had been ecstatic as she'd shoved the mug into his hands, splashing the liquid over his suit, and she'd sheepishly laughed and reached out with her dressing gown to mop up the mess.

“My bad,” she apologised.

He'd thrown his head back and laughed.

As the weeks passed, an average of two akumas per month, Marinette had yet to see the mysterious Papillon. The infected popped up throughout the city, nowhere else in the country or the rest of the world, and they truly didn't turn anyone into an obedient minion in the late evening.

With Chat Noir cheering for her from the streets, she practised using her bandalore as a grappling hook to move, listening to the pointers he gave and trying to be the most graceful she could be. The Ladybug in the videos had been able to land perfectly—not even stumbling or _wincing—_ and yet she was still having trouble was getting used to get powers at all. She supposed that her counterpart had had four years to perfect her moves, and it was with that thought that she ventured back on Alya's blog, looking for the earliest footage she could find.

There were some creepy websites that tracked Chat Noir's and Ladybug's growing figures, trying to guess their ages. They had pictures throughout the years, pointing out the defined muscles and flattened stomachs, the added height, and even Ladybug's maturing bust. Alya went on a passionate rant in class about them once, but she'd tuned it out, as she did with most conversations to do with the superheroes, not paying attention until she needed to dig into the past.

“Don't you think so, Marinette?” Alya's voice called out from the seat beside her, bespectacled eyes staring with a pointed expression.

With a sheepish laugh, the dark-haired female raised a hand to rub at her neck self-consciously. “Sorry, what were you saying? I think I was dozing off.”

From in front of them, Nino let out a laugh. “She's just enthusiastic about her favourite topic.”

As the teachers was preoccupied with the other side of the classroom, he and Adrien had turned around in their chairs, facing them to make conversation while they could.

“You?” she questioned.

Adrien snorted. “He wishes.”

“As I was saying,” the red-head interrupted, promptly shooting the two males a narrow-eyed glare, “don't you think there's something wrong with Ladybug lately?”

Somehow, her hand didn't tighten around her pencil. Marinette was sure that some part of her body had stiffened, showing a reaction, as Adrien's eyes flickered to her with a brief concerned expression before it disappeared, and his green eyes were back to being directed at Alya.

“You think there's something wrong with Ladybug?” she questioned slowly.

Nodding frantically, Alya reached down into her bag in an attempt to fetch her cell phone. “Yes, absolutely,” she answered, illuminated the screen quickly and tapping away to bring up what she suspected was evidence. “I thought that, maybe, she was having an off day, you know? Then, I searched through all the videos I've taken from the past six months and I realised something.”

Adrien folded his arms on top of the back of his chair. “And what's that?”

“The two of them, Ladybug and Chat Noir, they're not as friendly any more,” Alya started, knitting her eyebrows together. She made a noise of confirmation, then made it so the three of them could see the cell phone screen clearly, where it displayed a picture of Ladybug in the middle of flicking her partner's nose affectionately. “They used to do this, right? And sometimes, when they were close, we could hear them call each other cute nicknames and all those kinda things.”

Nino adjusted the hat on his head (they had the one teacher that allowed him to keep it on). “Maybe one of them got in a relationship? They were pretty flirty before, I guess, and might not want to wrong their partner, even if their identities are a secret.”

Clearing his throat, Adrien drew attention to himself. “There could be plenty of reasons, but they're really not our business.”

“That's what I thought at first before I starting looking at their actual fights,” the bespectacled female defended, stashing her cell phone away once more. “For as long as they've changed their behaviour around each other, their fighting style's been different, too. I'm not even kidding—there's a video from a few months ago where Ladybug stood there while Chat Noir did all the work.”

As always when the conversation evolved into revolving about the superheroes, it was Adrien who indulged Alya the most. Pointing a finger towards the red-head, he retorted, “I know exactly the one you're on about; Ladybug stopped a car from falling on them both, so she wasn't doing nothing.”

When Alya opened her mouth to reply, and therefore cause the two of them to start a heated debate that would soon attract the attention of their class-mates, Marinette quietly asked, “What if Ladybug's injured?”

Her cheeks coloured as their eyes turned to her.

“I—if Ladybug's injured, don't you think he'd take it badly?” she tried to explain, awkwardly shrugging. “They're still human outside of the suits.”

Alya visibly deflated. “Oh.”

“I'm sure she's okay,” Adrien said softly. “A lot of injuries heal.”

-x-

After the mug spilling incident, Marinette made sure to pour the warm drink roughly five minutes before he arrived, wrapping a blanket around on top of her as she travelled out to the balcony, and then set the mug upon the table, so there wouldn't be any clumsy accidents. As there was dew and dampness on the chair, she stayed huddled standing up, brightly smiling and waving when she caught his approaching figure in the distance. It was the lampposts that managed to illuminate him in the darkness, as he never came before the sun rose.

“You don't have to meet me out here, you know,” he drawled as a greeting, making his staff compact again and storing it on his back. “Not that I'm saying you _need_ beauty sleep—”

She grinned, arms holding the blanket tight around her. “Just like you don't need to water my plants every weekend—gosh, I am glad it's not everyday any more.”

“I'm an early riser anyway.” Chat shrugged, leaning back against the railing for support. “I have been for most of my life, so, really, I'm lucky that Papillon doesn't infect people late at night.”

Gesturing to the mug beside her, shooting him a pointed glance, Marinette watched with amusement as he rolled his eyes before picking it up with his gloved hands, letting the steam fan across his face instead of taking a sip. She was grateful for the solar-powered lights that decorated her balcony, making it so she could clearly see his outline, and the details of his face when he looked at her.

“Are you cold?” the dark-haired female asked softly, knowing that she wasn't a picture of warmth at that moment; she was layered in pyjamas, her dressing gown, and an additional blank to combat the early morning chill. “I can share my blanket with you, if you're nice.”

He grinned, cupping the mug with both hands. “Magic suit, remember?”

There were beads of condensation appearing on his mask from the drink, so she shuffled forward and raised one of her blanket-covered hands to wipe it off. Chat didn't freeze or pull away, content to let her pat his eyes as he closed them, utterly trusting. It was the small moments like that that made her realise that they'd grown closer; that he wasn't afraid of getting to know her again, not trying to push the expectations of the past Ladybug onto her.

“That doesn't mean I can't cuddle with you under a blanket,” Marinette pointed out fondly, tapping his nose once before she pulled her hand back, careful not to stain her blanket with the drink. “We could go inside where it's warmer for me if—if you want to spend some time together.”

Taking a long sip, closing his eyes for a moment as he did so, Chat answered afterwards with, “As much as I'd like to, I don't think I should.”

Her smile didn't falter. “Okay,” she replied easily, not wanting to push him.

And he knew that, too, from the way he averted his eyes and continued to drink as a distraction, clearly uncertain how to answer her.

“The invitation is extended forever,” Marinette assured him gently, arms bundled up in the blanket again. “So, if you ever need a place to sleep because of family problems, or if you want to play some video games, rather than teaching me how to fight with my actual body, I'm all for it.”

His eyebrows furrowed beneath the mask. She'd noticed that hers did the same; it moulded to their body shape, adjusting itself with their expressions without the danger of slipping and revealing themselves. It was another detail to keep them safe from the public's eyes, their suits not able to be peeled off by too curious fans, and it showed one of the amazing abilities of their kwamis (she still considered the athletic abilities they were suddenly able to perform when infused with their kwamis to be the most impressive, and baffling).

“I—” Chat cut himself off, clearing his throat before he finished the drunk, still cradling the empty mug in his glove-clad hands. “Now that you've been Ladybug for some time—I mean, it's not like you _weren't_ Ladybug—”

Moving forward to lean against the railing beside him, Marinette gave him a patient smile as he raised one hand to trail through the messy locks of his blond hair, narrowly avoiding the fake cat ear that wouldn't be removed, not even when an object hit him on the head. It was strange to see, and she'd yet to succumb to the urge to ask whether she could touch them, mystified that they managed to twitch and move per his emotions.

“It's hard trying to tell the difference between you two,” he whispered, voice soft and all kinds of vulnerable. The fact that he'd trust her with that, to not turn away or hide his face as he rasped those words, had her heart clenching tightly. “I've been wanting to ask you something, Marinette.”

He was stalling, she realised. When they were together, clad in their magical suits, he only ever referred to her as Ladybug, so it was in the vulnerable weekend mornings on her balcony where she heard her name fall from his lips, sounding familiar and certain, not twisting the pronunciation as some were known to do. There was that feeling of knowing, armed with the knowledge since their first encounter that he knew her from both her identities without realising it, and she held that close to her as something precious. Him being there, using the excuse of watering her plants to reach out to both sides of her, meant more than she could describe.

She leaned against his shoulder. “You can ask me anything, Chat.”

The words spilled from his lips quietly, “Do you regret telling me who you are?”

“No,” Marinette replied without missing a beat. “I like that we can spend time together when I'm not in my suit. Tikki likes you, too. She thinks it's sweet that you come here every weekend.”

Fiddling with the mug, he pointed out, “I normally leave after five minutes.”

“Sure.” She shrugged, knowing that he could feel the movement and see it from the corner of his eyes. “You're forgetting that that's five minutes I wouldn't have had with you otherwise.”

He didn't reply after that, and she didn't want to push him to. As he'd stayed later than usual, as he'd pointed out himself, the smells and fragrances from her parents' shop down below began to waft out as food started to be cooked and prepared, ready for the morning customers. It attracted people to the front door, often creeping through the cracks in her windows and rousing her from her sleep, stomach churning from the thought of food.

Softly, she whispered, “I'm sure she would've told you, too. I don't regret it, and I'm not even half the friend to you that she was.”

There was no stiffening from the mention of the Ladybug she'd taken the place of, and instead Marinette's eyes widened as he slowly wrapped an arm around her blanket-clad shoulders, body shifting so her face was almost pressed against his chest from the comforting embrace.

“I'm not replacing her with you,” he confessed quietly, and she didn't dare peek to see his expression—she could hear the vulnerability in his voice as it was. “You said it before, Marinette; you're the same person, minus the memories of our time together. It's like a selective amnesia.”

She huffed a laugh at that, awkwardly returning the hug with her blanket-covered arms, the material still balled within her fists to keep it on. “I know you miss her.”

“Of course,” Chat replied tentatively, wrapping both of his arms loosely around her, juggling the mug so it wouldn't fall. “She was—you _are_ a big part of my life.”

A lump appeared in her throat as she closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest, not surprised that the suit didn't feel cold to her. There wasn't really a temperature to it, much like her own. “Do you resent me for it?” Marinette asked, voice cracking at the end.

The arms around her tightened. “No, never,” the blond-haired male replied instantly, sounding so sure of himself. It wasn't the confused or vulnerable response that she'd expected. “It's like I'm getting to know you all over again—minus the awkward growth spurts from puberty.”

A laugh escaped her at that. She could recall her horrified reaction when she'd found the websites about their maturing bodies. “That can still happen, you know,” Marinette teased. “You're only sixteen.”

“Seventeen,” he corrected her quietly.

“Oh.” Leaning back so she could peer up and look him in the eyes, no longer shocked by the green-coloured sclera since she'd found out that his kwami granted him night vision with it. “When did that happen?”

His dimples showed as he grinned cheekily and answered cryptically, “A while ago.”

She childishly stuck out her tongue.

-x-

Chat appeared in her bedroom on her birthday.

Marinette had enjoyed her evening by inviting some of her friends over to gorge themselves on snacks and play video games to celebrate her seventeenth birthday, and then she blew out some bright-coloured candles with her parents after her friends had left. She managed to eat one slice of cake—a pretty two-tiered one that her father had made, and mother decorated—before she retired to her bedroom, placing a few cookies on a dish on her desk for Tikki, who was sleeping peacefully on her bed.

Sitting down at the desk chair, not wanting to disturb her kwami, the sudden voice from behind her made her jump. “Are you free for tonight?”

Marinette clutched at her heart in panic as she turned to the side, eyes wide as she spotted Chat lounging on the large armchair she had by her window, relaxing as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. He smiled wolfishly, showing the indents of his cheeks as he did so, stretching out with an audible noise escaping him from the movement.

“You're here,” she blurted as her greeting, chair spun around so she could face him.

He raised his eyebrows. “The invitation's still open, yes?”

Blinking, Marinette stuttered, “I—of course.”

“I'll be staying for a bit, then,” the blond-haired male announced, slowly getting to his feet, footsteps audible as he padded across the floorboards with his shoes. “Did you already blow out your candles?”

“With my parents, yes.” She nodded. “I had some friends over earlier, though. I think they were excited to try and have a slice.”

He grinned. “Did you kick them out before they could? How cold of you, Marinette.”

A laugh escaped her. “It was still being decorated, it's not my fault! They were only over for a short while because there's not enough seats for everyone to stay for dinner. If anyone got their hopes up, it's their own fault.”

Moving forward and placing his arm around the back of her chair, meaning he was leaning close to her, enough so for her to see the details within his irides and realise that his eyelashes were stained with blond at the ends, Chat enquired, “What about me, then?”

She blinked.

“Here I thought I'd drop by and wish you a happy birthday, and you'd smile and offer me a big slice of your cake,” he continued, grin altering his mask from the raised corners of his eyes. “You wouldn't be as mean to me as you were to your other friends, would you?”

Lips quivering from trying not to smile, Marinette returned his stare with narrowed eyes. “Let me get this straight,” she started, no longer tense from surprise in her seat, leaning back so she could feel his arm across the back of her neck. “You're invading my personal space to increase the chances of you getting food?”

“How rude.” He sniffed dramatically. “I thought we could have a romantic dinner in the moonlight, enjoying frosting together while surrounded by beautiful flowers—”

“There's already flowers on my balcony. As none of that is your doing, it's not romantic,” she pointed out, voice shaking with her laughter. “And it's not even late; my parents aren't in bed yet.”

He snickered. “Are you suggesting I should come back when your parental figures are asleep?”

Reaching out and tapping against the bell on his suit, Marinette's lips stretched into a lopsided smirk. “How scandalous it would be; me spending the night with a gentleman clad in a strange bodysuit.”

There was a moment of silence where he blinked, looking momentarily dumbfounded by the teasing comment before he breathed out in amusement, looking at her with a fond expression that was reserved for their time alone. She'd started to see it whenever she managed to replicate a move he'd shown her while sparring, in the dwindling moments before their transformations ran out, and when he sipped at the warm beverages she made for him (usually before he teasingly said he preferred it made another way, never consistent).

From their closeness, she was able to feel his breath as he enquired, “I'm a gentleman, am I?”

“Well, I should hope so.” Marinette raised her eyebrows. “You've got countless children looking up to you, so you have to be a good role model.”

She could see the shadows that his blond-stained eyelashes made on his mask as he leaned forward, nose and the tip of his mask pressing against hers lightly. “Right now, you're looking up to me, too.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks, but she didn't move away. “I've always looked up to you,” the dark-haired female confessed quietly. “I—I know my first impression of you was terrible, but once I found out who you are, I've felt nothing but admiration for you.”

“Oh?” he breathed.

If he hadn't been touching her, she would've nodded. Marinette settled with staring into his eyes with a shy smile as she professed, “You're amazing, Chat.”

He didn't reply to that; instead, Chat pulled away, the arm that had been behind her raised so he could fiddle with his already messy hair, eyes flickering away from her as he stood up straight. From knowing him well, she knew that it was a somewhat shy reaction, and she was sure that if the mask were to be removed, she would've seen colour dusting along his cheeks. As it was, the transformation hid it—her mask was smaller, showing all of her nose and therefore allowing him to see when she blushed—and his hair was loose, meaning she couldn't see whether his ears reddened when he was embarrassed.

It was no wonder they'd been close for years; he was funny and endearingly silly, charming when he didn't mean to be, had the most atrocious puns when he wanted to, and it seemed that a few minutes in his presence was enough to cheer her up after an awful day, even when they were faced with an infected civilian.

To her, he was everything good. He was the chosen for a being of darkness and destruction, yet his smile was bright, his personality even more so, and she felt blessed to be close to him.

She wouldn't willingly trade worlds and lose him, not even for the promise of no terror throughout the city from the lack of a supervillain. She had the close friends that had been by her side for years, the consistent faces that had always been there, having not changed from her transfer, but he'd managed to meddle with her feelings, successfully finding a way into her heart with his dimpled grins and witty responses without trying.

“Hey, Chat,” she called, lips curled into a grin as he rubbed at the nape of his neck. It was a self-conscious and nervous movement he did a lot, and she imagined that he did it in his civilian form, too, where there wasn't the material of his suit in the way.

The hand dropped to his side as he replied, “Yes?”

Aware of the colour to her cheeks and the quickening of her heart, Marinette enquired, “Are you sure I didn't have a crush on you?”

His eyes flickered to hers, holding a stare for a few seconds of silence, most likely trying to tell whether she was joking. Marinette shot him a small smile, watching as his gaze flickered to her cheeks. It was after that that he responded quietly, “I'm ninety percent sure you didn't.”

She wetted her lips.

“I'm one hundred percent certain I do now.”

With his green-coloured eyes widening, she watched as his mouth opened, no audible noise escaping before he pursed his lips together, staring at her, as though he was waiting for her to utter the punchline. They knew each other well enough not to joke about such things, yet she could understand his hesitance to accept her off-handed confession; it hadn't been filled with proclamations of love and desire to to date, just a small comment of her feelings instead.

There was no pressure from her for him to confess his feelings back, or even back upon them; she'd stayed sitting for a reason, allowing him to choose whether to come closer or not. The smile didn't fall from her lips, not even when she saw that he was struggling for words.

The love she'd had in the past had been naïve and child-like, filled with wide eyes and stutters from her tendency to overreact, but with him, as they'd grown closer over the months as friends and partners, it was his genuine smile—that was directed at her—that had her chest filling with warmth, his silly jokes when he interacted with others, and the fond look that he wore when he looked at her when they were alone that made her feel cherished and accepted.

“I just wanted you to know that,” Marinette continued, tucking a stray dark strand behind her pierced ear.

Running a hand quickly through his hair, and over the top of one cat ear, Chat appeared to be visibly frustrated as he shifted his weight on the spot, and she idly wondered whether he was considering leaving or not. There was no panic within her, though—she was certain that even if he left, her flowers would be watered the following morning when she looked without fail. It was that small reassurance that had led her to believe that she wasn't disliked for month, and it was treasured, held close to her.

When he finally answered, it was with a soft and equally vulnerable, “Oh.”

Smiling, she asked, “Want some of that cake now? I can fetch you a big piece, but I'd prefer if you ate it inside, rather than on the balcony.”

He blinked. “...Sure.”

“Great.” Marinette beamed, hopping onto her feet. “I'll be right back, then. Don't forget that if you leave, I do have a way of tracking you down—I will use it, even if it's to shove a piece of cake in your face.”

As she descended the stairs, she could hear his muffled laughter. She placed two pieces on a large plate—a small one for herself, less than half of his—and thanked her parents on her way past, where she was treated to kisses to her cheeks, birthday wishes, and hopes for nice dreams, all the things that she would've craved if the changed world would've altered her parents. Marinette returned to her room with colouring to her cheeks still, and her face grew fond when she saw that he was upon the armchair again, back by the window where he'd been the first time she'd appeared.

“I couldn't get two plates without my parents questioning me,” she apologised half-heartedly, readily sitting beside him, their thighs almost touching. “As you can see,” Marinette started, gesturing her chin towards the plate within her hands, “the tiny piece is all you deserve.”

He huffed out laugh. “I won't be offended if it tastes as good as it looks.”

“You should've seen it with all the candles.” She grinned, swatting his gloved hand when he went to take the piece, then passed him the cutlery she'd stashed in her pocket. “We have manners in this house, Chat.”

“I'm only an alley cat, Marinette,” the blond joked, taking a large chunk off the bigger piece. “You can't expect everyone to be as polite as you.”

She fiddled with her cutlery, not wanting to eat immediately. “Wasn't I supposed to be spending my evening with a gentleman?”

“Well, that was until you said it's too early for that,” he replied after swallowing his mouthful. “Also, this is probably the best cake I've had in my life. Your friends are absolutely missing out.”

Shrugging, Marinette speared some of the sponge as she used the other hand to hold the plate up between them. “That's fine. I mean—well, you're here.”

“Oh?” He grinned, as he chewed, the cake disappearing quicker than she'd anticipated. Marinette pushed the rest of her slice other to his side of the plate as he questioned, “And what is that supposed to mean, Marinette?”

There was colour to her cheeks and her smile met her bright eyes as she confessed, “You're my best friend.”

His expression turned soft; there was that look in his eyes that she held dear, and the mask adjusted to his answering grin. “You're mine, too, you know,” Chat replied, momentarily forgoing the rest of the cake as he leaned to bump his shoulder against hers lightly in an affectionate way. “And if that means I get to eat all your food, I have no problem with that.”

“We could—” Marinette cut herself off as she cleared her throat, eyes flickering down to stare at the plate instead of him. “We could eat together in the morning, if you want, instead of drinking out on the balcony on Saturdays.”

There was a self-conscious moment where she wondered whether she'd be rejected, only for it to be interrupted with his enquiry of, “Wouldn't that be troublesome for you?”

Marinette looked up quickly, hair fluttering from the sudden movement. “No,” she blurted quickly, smiling awkwardly as she settled her cutlery upon the plate. “I—my parents would be busy preparing for work, so I'd be able to get to the kitchen easily. There's often leftovers from the day before, if you want something sweet to go with your drink.”

Tilting his head slightly to the side, so his hair moved as he did so, Chat pointed out mischievously, “It sounds like you're asking me to join you for very early morning breakfast dates.”

She blinked. “If want me to be, then, yes, sure.”

“Well, you did charm me with some delicious cake.” He had the audacity to wink at that, jumping up to his feet as she placed the plate upon her knees for safety. “As much as I'd like to stay, I wasn't kidding about being terrible at staying up late.”

Laughing, she watched as he stretched his arms above his head. “No catnaps during the day, eh?”

He ignored her comment with a fond shake of his head. “If there's no attacks, I'll see you on Saturday,” Chat announced, raising a hand over his shoulder to wave, his back to her as he approached the trapdoor. “I wouldn't be opposed to something sweet to lure me into your bedroom again.”

“That's not a sentence I thought I'd ever hear you say,” she teased.

“Anything for you, princess,” the blond replied, amusement clear in his voice. “And have fun trying to find your gift. It's somewhere around here.”

And with that said, he disappeared through the trapdoor, his belt tail the last thing she saw before he was gone, and it was with a start that she realised that he'd called her once of the nicknames that she'd heard on videos, but had never been uttered to her.

It made her face feel hot.

The gift turned out to be two new potted plants on her balcony, tiny little things that were filled with blossoms and smelled wonderful, a lot more elegant than the others that she owned. She wasn't as surprised to realise that he'd managed to jump onto her balcony to deliver them safely after she'd seen him transport civilians out of the way of danger over the months, but that didn't mean that she wasn't amazed (the first time she'd practised it with him, she'd failed horribly and ended up dropping the pillow that she'd used as a dummy).

He did turn up the following weekend.

Marinette turned the lights on in her room as she ventured downstairs to make the drinks and get the food, hoping that he'd take the hint and let himself in from the invitation. Her smile was bright as she returned, clad in her pyjamas instead of the usual ensemble of multiple layers to keep herself warm, to see him sat down, yawning into his hand before he noticed her.

After a sheepish smile from him, she put the tray down between them that she'd placed everything on, slowly picking at her food as they spoke. It wasn't the awkward moment with the cake where she'd been trying to hold up the plate to his height, and her cheeks quickly started to hurt from smiling as she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her laughter, sometimes tears appearing in her eyes from her suppressed chortles.

They enjoyed their routine for a few weeks, happy to joke and laugh, sipping at their mugs—she'd managed to find one with cat ears, and used it specifically for his drinks—and picking at the leftovers that she'd found, spending the early morning hours wrapped up in each other's presence.

Then, one morning where he stayed later than usual, as the streets were illuminated by the rising sun and the sound of cars filled the silence, they heard screaming. It was the tell-tale noise of trouble, and Marinette almost spilled over the tray from her surprise.

Afterwards, as the vessels for their kwamis beeped in warning, Chat turned towards her with a lopsided smile and confessed, “I'm one hundred percent about you, too.”

It was only after he'd disappeared that she realised what she meant, and she was sure that her face matched her suit as she ducked into an empty alley. Marinette held up hands up to her burning cheeks with a happy smile as she processed her words, overjoyed with the sudden development.

It had taken a few weeks, but he'd taken the step towards her.

There were moments where she found herself wondering about his civilian identity, trying to imagine the familiar mop of hair on a face free of the mask, wondering whether he preferred to wear short or long-sleeved shirts. It was the silly little things that she thought about when she was bored in class, or alone in her bedroom with nothing else to do. She distracted herself with thoughts of his smile when he received good marks on a test, whether he was having fun with his friends, but she wasn't resentful for him not sharing it with her.

It was for a good reason; the two of them hadn't told each other their identities for four years until she'd appeared and ruined it within a day of meeting her kwami from her misunderstanding. Marinette held no ill feelings about the secret because, to her, he was already her closest friend, the one that she'd readily cry about her problems to if they arose.

There was no doubt that she'd like the person behind the mask, and the hints that they already knew each other supported that. When he felt comfortable enough to reveal himself, to let go of the promise that he'd made and kept to her counterpart, she'd be there waiting. And if he didn't, preferring to honour her in the only way he could, she would be fine with that, too.

She wasn't insecure enough to fret about his affections, wondering whether the limitation between them was because someone else had a place in his heart, too. Chat was everything kind and honest all in one, and she trusted him absolutely.

So, it was with that in mind that the next time they'd defeated an akuma, having found time to stand together as medical assistance helped the victim up, that she opted to wrap her arms around his neck in an embrace rather than the usual bumping of fists that they'd done.

Chat didn't stiffen in surprise. Accepting the suddenness with ease, his arms went loosely around her waist in a familiar way, a position they'd found themselves in back on her balcony a few months ago. Marinette rested her head against his chest, aware that she only went up to his shoulders in height, taking in a deep breath to try and quell the nerves and block out the murmurs of the crowds around them.

“We only have a few minutes,” Chat reminded her in a whisper.

That was fine. With their enhanced abilities, they were able to escape to safety within a minute—the last warning beep, the final spot on her earrings, and the illuminated paw print on his ring for him—so there was no worry of not being able to make it out in time. Marinette had dawdled on her first day when she was unaware of the countdown, having enough sense to lock herself away in private for the transformation to fall.

Tilting her head back so she could look up at him, the dark-haired female asked softly, “Can I do something?”

He blinked. “Anything.”

Making herself taller by standing on her toes, Marinette brushed her nose against his, the material of his mask not hurting her as she did so. As she felt their mingled breath fan her face, she pressed her lips lightly against his, eyes fluttering closed, pleased as the arms around her tightened.

She toyed with the hairs by the nape of his neck as she tentatively, gently, and experimentally applied pressured, a pleased hum escaping as he mimicked the movements equally softly, holding her close and intimately against him, as though they weren't standing where the streets had once been wrecked. The sounds of the civilians were drowned out by the nervous hammering of her heart, and she realised with a start that her hands had become clammy underneath the suit. She wished to feel the softness of his hair, though, to tangle her fingers if they were to deepen the kiss—

The beeping noise startled them. Marinette pulled back with flushed cheeks—visible underneath her mask, she was sure—and her gaze flickered to his reddened lips, a feeling of pride filling her chest from knowing that she was the one to cause it.

“I'll see you tonight,” she promised, placing one more chaste kiss to his lips.

-x-

There wasn't much sparring.

Marinette had arrived last to their chosen rooftop—they decided to change location every two weeks to thwart persistent reporters—and was greeted with a terrible cat-themed pickup line. She'd thrown her head back and laughed, showing her appreciation for him always making her feel comfortable and welcomed by wrapping her arms around him in an embrace, only for that to evolve into him running his gloved fingers through her hair. They'd stayed hugging for a few minutes before deciding to try and be productive, trying to outsmart each other with their movements, as Marinette had trained for months to catch up, and she'd been a surprisingly fast learner. Chat had mentioned off-handedly that she'd almost become as good as him within their year together one weekend, and she'd grinned like a lunatic from the praise.

When she'd managed to sweep her leg and make him fall onto the floor, she straddled his stomach, holding his arms down above his head with a triumphant expression.

“I win,” Marinette announced, leaning closer as she gloated.

Chat's smile was lopsided as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Momentarily surprised, it had given him the chance to reverse their positions, successfully restraining her from fighting back. There were no bruises from the falls, no cries of pain from accidentally hitting each other too hard, and they were free to try out silly techniques with their weapons while they were away from the judging eyes of the city, hidden high and out of view. Marinette had once worried about his penchant for sitting on the edge, and he'd heartily laughed and explained that even if he fell off, he wouldn't be injured. That didn't mean she joined him, though.

She huffed as her arms were held down. “You cheated.”

“We don't really have rules, Ladybug,” he chastised, voice thick with amusement and restrained laughter. With him leaning close to her, his hair was falling forward, allowing her to see a glimpse of his forehead that was rarely seen.

“That was before we started kissing,” she grumbled back, dramatically jutting her lower lip out as she shot him a sour look. “We're supposed to be sparring, too.”

Laughter escaped him, brightening up his face in the limited light they had. “Are you going to forbid me from kissing you?”

“How about we agree not to while fighting?” Marinette suggested, using her breath to blow away a stray piece of hair that was annoying her. The ground wasn't terribly uncomfortable, not while transformed, but that didn't mean she wanted to stay there with him hovering over her until they had to part ways. “I'd hate to think that you'd get distracted and mauled by an akuma because of my lips.”

His grin grew lopsided. “If that happens, it'll be because of more than your lips.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette managed to gain control of her arms again, pushing him away so she could sit up properly. Chat complied with the shove, not fighting it as he could've, and just laughed as he sat down beside her, pressing their shoulders together in the middle of the rooftop. He wasn't dragging her towards the edge as he'd once done, knowing that she still wasn't comfortable with the thought of teetering of the side, let alone seeing him fall if his attention slipped.

“You're terrible,” she said fondly, reaching up and ruffling his hair, fingertips brushing against the cat ears.

Leaning into her hand purposely, he corrected, “Terribly smitten.”

“Oh, are you?” Marinette questioned, tilting her head quizzically as she dropped her hands into her lap, fiddling with her gloves.

Chat's gloved hand caressed her cheek, cupping her jawline so his thumb was beneath her ear as he whispered, “Absolutely.”

Her smile was wide as he started to trace comforting patterns into her skin, the fond look reflected on his face, too. It was the moments like that where they were close, enough so for her to see his blond-stained eyelashes that pressed against his mask, that she could feel heat creeping onto her face from the appreciative thoughts. She liked him; the way his laugh sounded, the witty comments and retorts, even the way he managed to make a fool of himself by falling over while trying to show her an impressive new move that he'd thought of. He was playful, sweet, and so utterly hers that it made her smile reach her blue-coloured eyes.

“Am I allowed to kiss you now?” he asked softly.

A breath of amusement left her. “Of course.”

It wasn't demanding, filled with passion or confidence. As she allowed him to move first, noses brushing against each other as they adjusted their heads, Marinette's closed her eyes as he tentatively pressed his lips against hers. They had clumsy moments, teeth accidentally brushing, and she almost caught his lower lip with an accidental bite at one point, but it was everything that she'd wanted and more. The hesitant movements, the waiting for gentle confirmation to return the action—all of it had her heart beating loudly, a sound that was echoed in her head as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his messy hair once more.

The hand on her face didn't drop. It was affectionate and private as his thumb continued to trace patterns as their lips met, the pressure increasing as their breaths mingled and warmed their faces. She wondered whether the fitted gloves were as uncomfortable for him as they were for her, when all she wanted to do was feel him clearly underneath her fingertips.

As his tongue languidly slid over her lower lip, a silent question that she confirmed with a hum of pleasure at the back of her throat, she considered stopping to let the transformation drop. Then, she would've been cold in the night, and the only one to be able to feel him—she knew that no part of their suits could be removed for safety reasons, but at that moment, she was honestly frustrated with that.

They stayed close, breaths coming out and warming each other, until she pulled back, tongue wiping across her own lips as she took in the sight of his reddened ones. Chat's grin was intimate and smug all at once, and she made a noise of amusement before resting her head on his shoulder, loosely embracing him as her heart hammered in her chest. It was beating in excitement, a coiling of pleasure within her that demanded more, but they wouldn't be able to continue further with their suits in tact, she knew that.

Chat had his arms loosely around her waist as she closed her eyes. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked quietly, clearing his throat afterwards.

“Anything,” she whispered back, cheek pressed against his suit.

“If I told you,” he started, sounding uncertain as he paused to take in a breath, “that some guy with blond hair and green eyes is going to ask you on a date tomorrow, what would you say?”

She didn't stiffen from surprise, but that didn't mean it wasn't shown on her face that was hidden from him. “I'd—” Marinette began, staring at the bell on his neck. “I'd have to ask how he's planning to lure me out of my home on a weekend.”

His chest vibrated with his laughter. “I'm sure he could try and throw rocks at your window, if you're into that.”

“No, that's okay.” She laughed at the thought, wondering whether his ability for aiming was as atrocious for hers without the aid of her kwami. “How about I'll meet him outside at noon?”

Shifting their bodies a bit, Chat leaned down to place a kiss into her hair as he announced softly, “I'll see you at noon, then.”


End file.
